I assumed he came to you first
by Sofia777
Summary: John learns Sherlock is alive, from the telly... Very short story, more can follow if you want!
1. Chapter 1

**I assumed he came to you first...**

_John's POV_

Sherlock is back.

He is alive.

I know this because I saw him on the news this morning. I glanced at the television while I was drinking my tea. I recognized the pale skin, the long dark coat and the black curls immediately. At first I assumed they were replaying some old story, but then I realized I never saw that material before. I focused and there it was…. That very familiar voice…

'…and yes, my suicide was fake. Obviously.'

I dropped my cup. Hold tea splashed over the floor and burned by bare feet, but I didn't feel it.

'…says Sherlock Holmes, back from the death. Later today in an exclusive interview he will reveal how he cheated death and what really happened that day, almost two years ago. So stay tuned.'

For about two minutes I starred at the screen. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. My brain didn't work. I couldn't process what I heard and saw.

Then I gasped for air, grabbed the phone and called Lestrade. We haven't spoken in months but as soon as I heard his voice I said: 'Is it truth?'

'John?'

'Yes of course it's John._ Is it truth_?'

'Is what truth?'

'Sherlock! He is alive. The tv….'

'Yes of course its truth.'

I gasped for air again. Lestrade seemed confused.

'Are you alright, mate? I would have called you but I thought you knew. I assumed he came to you first….'

I still couldn't speak.

'But he didn't…. did he?' Lestrade asked.

'No', my voice sounded harsh, 'no he didn't.'

Lestrade said something else but I had dropped the phone. I sunk down and sat on the wet floor. In front of the television.

And now here I sit. Somewhere in the back of my mind I register the sound of the tv and the voice of Lestrade coming out of the phone. Or is it just a beep? I cannot focus. My mind is blank. The walls of my apartment are closing in on me and while the floor seems move like waives. It's making me sick.

He is on the telly. He is alive. He has been alive all this time. My partner. My flat mate. My best friend.

He is back, he didn't die and he never even send me a text.

Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the nice reviews! It motivated me to write more!_

I sit on the floor for almost an hour before I finally come to my senses and force myself to get up.

While I am cleaning the floor and the phone of the tea I speak to myself: 'So he is alive? I shouldn't be surprised. It is bloody Sherlock Holmes. Of course it was a trick. Of course he lied. And of course I believed everything and mourned at his grave like an idiot.'

I am so angry, but I try to convince myself I don't care.

What did you expect John Watson? I ask myself. The man is a freaking sociopath! Of course he doesn't care about the crippled doctor who happened to live in the same apartment for a while.

But it still stings.

I stay home all day. Partly because I was to see the interview, and partly because I can't help but to expect a call, or a text, or the doorbell… But nothing.

I watch the interview in the afternoon. To see him sit there - all smug and bored at the same time – is too much. Who is this man? Why did I go to his grave every month? Why do I feel how much I miss him every morning when I wake up and every night before I go to sleep? This man who jumped to his (fake!) death in front of me after an emotional phone call, who called me his only friend, who lived with me for 18 months…. I don't know him. I never did.

I stand in front of the telly during the whole interview. I can't bring myself to sit and relax. Of course I know what I am waiting for: to hear my own name. When will Sherlock mention me? When will the interviewer mention me? Sherlock doesn't say much. He talks, but he doesn't say much that matters or really explains what happened. Where did he learn that? My name doesn't come up. Not once. Sometimes I feel I must be included in the answer, but the detective carefully steps around it. Like I never existed.

Say I helped you, you bloody prick!

Say that you were not all alone and there was someone always believing in you!

Say you missed me, you arrogant, selfish piece of shit!

But he doesn't.

Not once.

The interview ends and I stand in front of the telly. My hands clenched to fists.

'Right.' I say to the telly. 'Right…'

I turn around, grab my coat and walk out the door. I really need some air.

It is a cold day. The wind feels like a splash of ice water in my face.

I don't understand. We were friends, right? He told me I was his only friend. What the hell happened? I totally ignored me. He talked to bloody Lestrade and he never even send me a text!

For the first time I thoroughly understand why he doesn't have any friends, why he probably really is a sociopath. Of course I always thought he was annoying, rude, selfish, unfeeling… But somehow I was convinced I meant something to him. I never forgot that look in his eyes when I stepped out of the changing room in the pool…. I knew that in that second he thought I was Moriarty. That look of confusion, anger, but also hurt…. And then when we thought Moriarty was gone and he ripped the bomb off me… I thought it meant something. The phone call right before he jumped. He cried. I could tell. Was that fake? Was it all only meant to make the act stronger? How can anyone be so cruel? I guess you have to be a sociopath, and the other guy has to be an emotional idiot thinking he is someone's only friend….

Suddenly I see my feet have brought me to Baker Street. Not very strange since I come here about once a month to have tea with Mrs. Hudson. How will she take the news? Should I go in and talk to her?

I stand across the street, doubting, when I see some movement behind the curtains of Mrs. Hudson's living room window. I squeeze my eyes while staring inside. That is… Oh my God that is Sherlock! Walking through Mrs. Hudson's apartment!

I feel like someone has knocked me in the chest really hard and I can't breathe. I swallow. _Breathe John! _

I gasp. But it doesn't help.

'Are you alright?' A young couple is standing next to me with a worried look in their eyes.

I force myself to speak but I don't recognize my voice: 'Yes, I am fine. Thank you.'

I turn and walk back, out of Baker Street. When I am around the corner I realize I am almost running and I force myself to slow down.

When I am home I make some tea. I sit in my favorite chair, rubbing my bare feet to the soft carpet. I turn on the tv and watch some silly daytime show, but my thoughts don't leave me alone.

After all this time of missing Sherlock, mourning the loss of my best friend, I now feel like I never had a best friend.

And when I go to sleep that night I notice I don't miss him anymore.

Maybe I finally have closure.

Thanks for reading! If you like it please write a review!


	3. Chapter 3

Time passes and I don't hear from him.

Two days after his return I have a shift in the hospital. Lucy, one of the surgeons who became a good friend, greets me in the hallway.

'Hey John, what are you doing here? I thought you'd be back to crime fighting now that Sherlock Holmes is back.' She grins, but her smile disappears when she sees my face.

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing.'

But she doesn't accept it. 'Not nothing, John! Tell me.'

'I … Sherlock is just…. We worked together and now we don't anymore. That's it.'

She frowns. 'What happened? Did you get in a fight or something?'

'To fight we would have to talk to each other.' I spat, and I immediately regret letting my childish grouch show. But Lucy is an understanding person.

She takes a step closer to me and whispers: 'He hasn't contacted you?'

'No.'

'Seriously?'

I give her a look.

'Sorry John! I just assumed you would be the first person he came to.'

I scold. She continues: 'To be honest, when I saw the news yesterday I thought you probably always knew he was alive.'

Somehow that makes it hurt even more. 'Great, so the rest of the world thinks I'm an idiot too.'

'No John! I don't think that at all!' Lucy puts her hand on my arm. 'Go talk to him!'

'No way!'

'Why not?'

'He can come to me if he has something to say.' I hiss at her. Then I grab my chart and walk away. I know it's not fair to take my frustration out on Lucy, but right now I need to be angry at someone, and the person who deserves it the most is conveniently avoiding me.

My phone buzzes. My heart skips a beat. Maybe its him…. But when I get it out of my pocket I recognize Lestrade's number.

'Good morning Lestrade.'

'Hi John, how are you mate?'

'Fine. What's up?'

'Can you come to the Yard this afternoon?'

'Why?'

'Some formalities regarding Sherlock's situation?'

'What do you need me for?'

'You were a witness to his death. And now that he's alive…. We just have some paperwork to go through. Can you come?'

I sigh. 'Fine. Is four okay?'

'Sure. By the way, have you talked to him yet?'

I clench my teeth together. 'No.'

'Oh… ehm…. If you want you can come around three, he might still be here.'

'No thanks. See you at four.'

I hang up before he can say anything else. I instantly decide not to go to Scotland Yard before four thirty, to make sure I don't run into Sherlock!

Unfortunately, faith decided differently.

I suspect the paperwork was an excuse from Lestrade to see me and talk to me about Sherlock. I avoid everything. Hastily I sign the papers without reading them. Lestrade tries to stall by asking me about my daily life, work, friends, the girl I was dating, but I hardly answer. When it's done I pick up my coat and walk out of the office. And there, in the hallway, by the coffee machine, stands my formerly deceased best friend.

Sherlock.

Pale, skinny but with that familiar smirk on his face.

'Hello John.' He says casually, as if we saw each other last week. My heart is beating fast and my hands are cold with sweat, but I am determined to treat him similar.

'Sherlock.' I say with cold politeness before I turn and walk down the stairs.

For a second I expect him to say something, or follow me, but he doesn't. He lets me walk away.

I step outside the building.

So this is how it ends.

No more Sherlock and John. No Hatman and Robin. No more the detective and his blogger.

Instead of his dramatic death and my eternal faith in him... it ends with forced civility.

Thank you so much for reading. If you like it please leave a review!


	4. Chapter 4

In the weeks that follow I more or less expect Sherlock to continue like before: catching criminals, solving cases, making the headlines in the news. But strangely enough, there's nothing. After the stories about his miraculous return and the scam Moriarty played on all of us die down, so does every news regarding the detective.

I'm happy about it. It is almost like I can go back to my life before he came back. Until one Monday morning in the hospital.

'John!' Lucy comes to me while I am updating my charts.

'Hi Luce, what's up?'

'John, I need to you to take over a patient from me.'

'Oh, why?' Lucy is a very competent doctor, more experienced than me. She never asked me to take over a patient from her.

'This one is terrible. Really terrible. He won't let me examine him, he constantly insults me and he threw a bedpan at me when I tried to put in the iv he pulled out.'

I laugh. 'Sounds like a child.'

She sighs. 'Please take him off my hands.'

'Well, not that I don't love a challenge on the Monday morning, but why do you think I can do a better job than you? Sounds like this guy is out of control.'

'He is,' she says, 'but he asked for you.'

I look at her. 'He asked for me?' Somewhere in the back of my mind a suspicion comes up…

'Lucy..' She avoids my eyes, 'are you talking about Sherlock?'

She drops her head in her hands in a dramatic gesture. 'Yes!'

'Lucy!' I am shocked. 'You know I don't want any contact with him!'

'I know I know, but John,' she sounds whiny, 'I can't work with this guy. He is an awful patient. It will take me hours and probably a strong sedative to even examine him and since he asked for you he will probably let you treat him! I am already dealing with two six-year olds at home! Please don't make me have that same fight here!'

She gives me a pleading look. I can tell she is really tired. Damn it, I can't say no.

'Fine. I'll take him.'

'Yes! Great! Thank you so much, John! I owe you one.'

'More than one!' I joke. 'So what happened to him? Did he get shot? Stabbed? Fell off a rooftop?'

'No, drug overdose.'

'What?!' I stare at her.

'Someone found him in an alley not far from the hospital.'

'He was drugged?'

'No John.' She hesitates. 'He… He took the drugs himself. There are clear signs of recent previous drug use. It seems he is an addict.'

I hesitate as I stand before exam room 1. I really don't want to go in but I have no choice.

The door opens and I see a man sitting on the edge of the bed. My first thought is: it isn't him. Lucy was mistaken. But then he speaks without looking up.

'Get out.' It is a snarl.

'Okay.' I say.

He looks up. 'John!'

'Hi Sherlock.' I stand in the door opening, still not sure it is really him. God, he is so thin.

'John.' he says again.

We stare at each other for a few seconds. I am not sure what to do. Then Sherlock jumps up.

'Quick! Sign my release papers and get me out of here. This place is boring and it smells.'

He hands me the papers but I don't take them. I watch his hands shake. When he sees me looking at them he pulls the papers back. I notice his dilated pupils, his swift, erratic movements without the elegance they used to have. And I can tell from the way he leans forward that his abdomen are hurting him. He is probably nauseas too. Lucy is right.

'Sherlock, did you take cocaine?' I ask.

'What?' He spits the word at me.

'Are you taking any drugs?' I pick up the chart at the foot end of his bed and try to avoid his piercing eyes.

'Why do you want to know?'

'Because I am your doctor and I need to know how to treat you. So, tell me what you took.' I give him by best firm-doctor-stare, but he is not impressed.

'No need to treat me like a child, John. Yes, I took cocaine.'

'When?'

'Every time?'

I sigh. 'Jesus, Sherlock, why?'

He laughs, but it seems to make him more nauseas. 'For a _case_ John! A case!'

'What case would require you to poison yourself like this?'

'A case, John!' He repeats. I don't think he heard me. He lays down on the bed, one hand on his stomach.

'Your abdomen are hurting?' I ask.

He frowns at me. 'No. I just ate something wrong.'

'Like what?'

'It was for the _case_.'

'So tell me about this case.' This is getting annoying.

'No. You wouldn't understand. Your brain cannot comprehend something this complicated.'

'Fine, I will call Lestrade.'

'Lestrade.' Sherlock waives his hand to the ceiling. 'Lestrade is an idiot. I am not working with him anymore.'

'Okay, then who is the client you are working this case for?'

'The client is a secret too.'

I take a deep breath. 'There is no case, is there?'

He doesn't answer.

'You're just taking drugs, back in old habits, aren't you?'

Still no answer.

'Fine.' I say. 'We don't have to talk. I will just put the iv back in.' I reach for his arm when he suddenly jerks it away and sits up straight again.

'Don't touch me.' He hisses. 'I won't let you touch me.'

'I am only trying to help you, Sherlock.' I say calmly. I know the overdose can cause some sort of paranoia so I have to stay calm and not take it personal.

'Let me put the iv back in. It will make you feel better.'

'No it won't. Stop trying to save me, John..'

'I am not…-'

'.. because you can't. You can't save me. I know you want to. You want to be the hero.'

'Stop talking Sherlock.'

'John the hero. Hero John, savior of the innocents. You are so naïve.' He laughs at me. A mocking, condescending laugh.

I count to ten in my head to stop myself from punching him in the face.

Then his laugh turns into a cough and he leans forward, both hands on his stomach.

I grab his arm and put one hand behind his back to help him lay down. I feel his pulse racing under my fingers.

'Sherlock, let me put the iv in. After that you can go back to mocking me as much as you want.'

'I don't want to mock you.' Sherlock whispers to the ceiling. 'I want to be dead again.'

I frown. 'Right.' He is clearly confused.

'You should get some rest.' I say while I put the iv back in. He doesn't move. His eyes are closed.

'I will come back later.' I turn to leave but Sherlock grabs the sleeve of my white coat.

'No.' He yells. 'Don't leave me.'

I look at him. 'I will come back.'

'No you won't.'

'Yes I will.'

'No, you won't.'

'Let go Sherlock.' I pull my sleeve, but his grip is very tight. I sigh and sink down on the bed.

'Fine. Have it your way. I am staying.'

'Good.' Sherlock leans back again, closing his eyes.

'Great.' He doesn't hear my sarcasm.

'Very good.' He nudges on my sleeve. 'I would be lost without my blogger.'

_Thanks for reading. Reviews are greatly appreciated! I will keep writing as long as people are reading..._


	5. Chapter 5

When he is asleep I pull my coat out of his grip and escape to the hallway. As soon as I close the exam room door behind me I feel my leg shake and I lean to the wall, rubbing my eyes. What just happened?

'How did it go?' Lucy walks by me. She is clearly in a hurry.

'Fine.' I stammer. 'He will be okay in a few hours.'

'Wonderful.' She rushes through the hallway. 'Thanks John!'

I walk to the nurse table.

'Anny?' The young nurse who first saw Sherlock looks up.

'Yes, doctor Watson?'

'The patient you saw this morning, Sherlock Holmes, did he have anything on him? A bag or a wallet?'

'Yes of course. I checked it to know who he was.'

'Did you find an emergency contact or anyone we should call?'

'Yes…' She paused. 'We don't need to call anyone.'

'Why not?'

'Because it's you, doctor Watson. You are his emergency contact.'

I sigh. That must be a very old paper in his wallet.

'And what about a buddy or a sponsor or someone helping him regarding the drugs problem?'

Anny checks her notes. 'Yes. He used to have a sponsor. I called him as soon as mister Holmes came in and he said he was on his way.'

'On his way?' I repeat. 'Some sponsor! It is hours later and he is still not here. Maybe you should call him again. Who is it?'

Anny flips through her notes. 'A detective inspector Gregory Lestrade, doctor.'

Well. That is surprising. And understandable at the same time. Maybe that is how they know each other since all these years….

'Doctor Watson?'

'Yes Anny?'

'Shall I call the inspector again?'

'No, I'll do it. Thanks Anny!'

I walk to a more quiet area and pull out my mobile. As soon as he answers I ask:

'Is there really a case?'

'Well hello to you too, John.' He sounds annoyed. I don't care.

'Is there a case, Greg? Or is Sherlock just –'

'How the hell am I supposed to know?'

'You were his sponsor! Still are apparently! Thanks for telling me by the way!'

'John,' he sounds tired, 'it was up to Sherlock to tell you about his past if and when he wanted. You know that.'

'Whatever Greg. What is going on now? Is he really using only for a case?'

'….' I hear him hesitating.

'Listen, John, things are not going very well for Sherlock. He doesn't talk to me about it.'

'So? Is that a yes or a no?'

'Like I said: he doesn't talk to me about those things. I don't think he would destroy himself like that again, after everything he went through, so probably there really is a case.'

'But he was an addict! It is completely stupid to use again just to solve come case!'

He sighs. 'I know, John. I will come and try to talk some sense into him. See you in an hour.'

We hang up.

I know he is right: it was up to Sherlock to tell me about his past drug use, but still…. It really stings to realize how much I don't know about the detective. How much Greg apparently knows…. Why does that bother me so much? Sherlock is a selfish idiot. I have every right to be angry at him. He has no reason to be angry at me! So why do I feel guilty?

A few hours later, near the end of my shift, I return to Sherlock's room. Anny called and told me he was awake. Lestrade still didn't arrive. She said the patient seemed recovered enough to go home. It sounded like he calmed down. He is probably more himself now, I don't know if I want to talk to him again, but I need to sign his release papers.

I knock and enter the room without waiting.

'Hi, how are you, Sherlock?'

He is sitting on the chair, rolling down his sleeves. He glances at me when I come in.

'I am fine, John. You will sign my papers?'

I walk up to him. 'I will do a quick exam first to make sure you are really okay.'

'Alright. What do I need to do?'

'If you can take off your shirt and sit on the bed? It will not take long.'

I wait while he undresses. We are so civil. So polite. So not _us. _ It is like we are strangers. Like any patient and doctor would treat each other.

When he sits on the bed, bare chest, I see even better how skinny he is. I listen to his heart and lungs through the stethoscope, first from his back.

'Take a deep breath in'. I lay my hand on his skin and feel how his heart slightly quickens.

'And out.'

I listen. It is not very good, but also not bad enough to admit him.

I walk around the bed and stand in front of him. I place the end of the stethoscope on his chest. 'A deep breath in again, please.' We stare at each other while I listen. His light eyes are more friendly, more soft then a few hours ago, but also more distant.

'And out.'

I also check his blood pressure and some other basic things. I can't avoid it…. I have to ask… as a doctor…: 'Sherlock, you are very skinny. How much do you weigh?'

'I am fine John.' He says quietly.

'And the drugs? Are you using again or was it really for a case?'

'I…it was an accident. I know what I'm doing'

'I can refer you to a rehab center if you want.'

'John, don't. I am fine.'

'You're not fine. You look underweight.'

He sighs and makes a dismissive gesture. 'I am on a case. I will eat when it is finished. You know me.'

Wrong answer.

'No I don't.' It is a statement, not a reproach.

'As your doctor I recommend you change your eating habits.' I almost add: 'mister Holmes'.

We stare at each other in silence again.

Then he looks away. 'Fine, _doctor_, I will eat more. Happy?'

'Over the moon.'

I sign the release papers. 'Have a nice life Sherlock. Good luck with the case and stay of the cocaine.'

I want to leave but he calls my name.

'John.'

I stop.

'John wait.'

I turn.

'You are angry.' He deduces. No point in denying it.

'Yes I am.'

'Why?'

_'Why?'_

'Yes, why? Did I say something insulting while I was intoxicated? Because you of all people should know I wasn't myself.'

I can do nothing but stare at him in amazement.

'What?' He asks.

'Well Sherlock,' I try really hard to keep my calm, 'unless you have been intoxicated for the whole last month I have plenty of reasons to be angry at you.'

He looks confused.

God, I have to spill it out for him!

'You ignored me! You come back from the death and I find out when I see you on the television! The bloody television, Sherlock!'

'Oh that…'

'Yes, _that_.'

I expect an explanation but there is nothing but uncomfortable silence again.

'Right.' I say. 'It doesn't matter anymore anyway. Goodbye Sherlock.'

I leave.

_Thanks for reading. Please leave a review!_


	6. Chapter 6

'John! Thank God you are here!' Lestrade sits down at my table. 'Bloody annoying git must overdose today, of all days! I have three murder cases to solve.'

'Sherlock is in exam room 1.' I say without looking up from my charts. 'If he is still there. We are not watching him.'

Lestrade ignores my words and glares at me. 'What is going on with you and Sherlock, mate?'

'Nothing.' I really don't want to talk about this. 'Tell Sherlock to stop using drugs to solve cases. It will bloody well kill him.'

Lestrade smirks. 'Can anything really do that, you think?'

I frown at him. 'Just talk to him, and make him eat something.'

'Come on, mate. You know I cannot _make _ Sherlock do anything. Why don't you talk to him?'

I get up. 'He doesn't want to talk to me. And by the way, you are his sponsor. Aren't you suppose to know what he is going through and all that? Good luck.'

I walk away. I know it was low to make that comment regarding Lestrade's apparent history with drug use, but I couldn't stop myself.

While I walk away I yell back at him: 'Oh and tell Sherlock to update his emergency contact in his phone!'

When I am at the elevator Lestrade catches up with me. I expect him to be angry about my comment but instead he grabs my arms and pulls me slightly away from my colleagues at the elevator. 'Listen, John.' He says quietly. 'I know you are upset because Sherlock didn't come to you, but maybe you should make the first step and talk to him.'

I open my mouth to protest but Lestrade is quicker. 'You don't know him from before, John, from before you came into his life. I do. He was a bloody mess, a hurricane, a nightmare to work with. He might never admit it but he needs you. He really does.'

'Greg…' I run one hand through my hair, 'it's nice of you to say that and maybe, from your point of view, Sherlock does need me. But obviously, he disagrees. I just tried to talk to him and he has nothing to say to me. So maybe you just like Sherlock better when I am with him, maybe everybody does, but that doesn't mean he _wants_ me around.'

God, it feels weird to say those thoughts out loud.

Lestrade has no argument. I return to the elevator. When I get in he speaks again: 'It's not truth, John. He will come around.' Just before the doors close he says: 'And he made that emergency contact last week.'

I don't see Sherlock again that week. A few days after that infamous Monday I call Lestrade to check how things are going. The DI is busy, he doesn't say much. He is not keeping close track of the detective, and he doesn't know if he took any drugs in the days after the hospital.

Great, I think, what kind of sponsor system is that?

I consider calling Sherlock myself, but I decide against it. What would I say to him?

Almost two weeks later, when I leave the hospital after a double shift, the detective is sitting on a bench across the street from the hospital entrance, holding two cups of coffee.

I stand still for a few seconds. Doubting. Should I just walk away? But I am too late. He gets up, crosses the street and hands me the coffee.

'Here.'

'Thanks.'

'Can I walk with you?'

'Ehm.. okay.'

We walk in silence. It is very cold, but I warm my hands on the coffee cup. I live close by the hospital and I walk home almost every day. Sherlock seems to know the route.

When we turn into my street we still haven't said a word. I drop my empty coffee cup in the trash can and stick both hands in my pockets.

'Are you going to say anything?' I ask without looking at him.

'Eventually.' Sherlock says. 'I am still choosing my words.'

This answer surprises me. Sherlock doesn't know what to say? What does that mean?

'Fine. Let me know when you're done.' I turn to my front door. Sherlock stays in the street.

'I will.' He says. He turns around and walks away.

_Thanks for reading and for your nice reviews. Please keep them coming!_


	7. Chapter 7

After that day Sherlock waits for me at the bench after almost every shift. Our routine is always the same: he brings coffee, we walk to my house in silence and I never invite him in.

I am dying to know how he knows all my hours, even when I have an unexpected double shift, but I don't break our ritual of silence. I will wait for him to choose his words, even though after almost a week I start to think he will never find them.

One afternoon, when the weather finally clears up and the ice cold wind disappears, Sherlock speaks while he hands me the coffee.

'Would you mind walking an alternative route home today?'

'Ehm, that depends…' I am suspicious.

'Nothing to worry about, I just thought since the weather is better we could go through the park.' He tries to say it casually, but I hear there is a plan behind the suggestion.

'Okay.'

We set off to the park. At first, things are as usual: silent. We both finished our coffee by the time we reach the park. When we pass by some benches Sherlock clears his throat.

'Can we sit?'

I sink down on one of the benches and Sherlock joins. It is cold. We are still silent. It is very uncomfortable. I wish I still had my coffee so I had something to do.

I hear Sherlock take a deep breath. It seems like he finally found the words.

'It is your fault, John!'

'What?!' I stare at him. These are the words he has been thinking about all this time?

'What do you mean, it's my fault? What is my fault?'

'This situation. The way things went. The reason I couldn't come to you first.'

'What the bloody hell are you talking about, Sherlock?'

'I am telling you that you are responsible for this, John. Do keep up.'

'I… I.. this is ridiculous!' I stammer angrily.

Sherlock is calm. 'No it is not. I have been thinking about it for a long time.'

'Well apparently not long enough because you're wrong, you git. In what way could you being a total dick possibly be _my fault_?' I yell at him. I am getting up to leave but Sherlock pushes me back down on the bench.

'At least let me explain before you storm off like an insulted teenager.'

'Alright, fine. I actually would like to see how you rationalize this deranged theory.'

Sherlock ignores my anger and leans back in the bench.

'I assume you know the story of how I faked my suicide and what I have been up to these last two years from the interview?'

I grunt something.

He glares at me. 'Don't pretend, John. I see right through you. Your level of agitation and your poorly concealed disappointment in my failing to come to you first proves how deeply you are affected. So naturally you saw the whole interview and I assume your anger and resentment were increased when I failed to mention your name.'

Annoying deducing sod!

He smirks. 'Anyway, back to my point. When all my plans came together and I was finally able to clear my name, Mycroft helped me make a plan how and when to announce my return. And, naturally, I always planned to come to you first, before anything or anyone else.'

I scold. 'Yeah sure. Of course you did.'

'Yes I did.' Sherlock leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees while he stares into the park. 'I did plan that. I knew where you lived and I followed you around for two full days before I –'

'You followed me around?!' I interrupt him. Shocked. How could I not notice that?

He signs. Annoyed. 'Yes John, don't be dense. I had to see what your life was like, of course.'

I want to say more but he continues: 'I had thought about what to say to you when we would meet again. I wrote you so many letters and texts over the last two years, but still I didn't really figure it out the right words. Anyway, I assumed I would know it when I saw you.'

He is silent.

'But…?' I ask, encouraging him to tell more.

Sherlock takes a deep breath. 'What was I to say? I knew '_sorry' _wasn't going to be sufficient.'

'Well, what did you say to Lestrade? Or to Mrs. Hudson?' I can't hide my resentment as well as I would like.

'Nothing.' Sherlock waves dismissively. 'I just said 'hi, I'm back.' It was a bit of shock for Mrs. Hudson though, maybe I should have done that differently….'

'So?' I ask. 'You could have said that to me?'

Sherlock turns his head and looks at me. 'To you? I could have said that to you?' He looks away from me. 'No John. I saw you there, in the street, while I stood on that rooftop, I heard you when you yelled my name and I knew what you would find in the street after I jumped… I might be a sociopath but I am definitely not an idiot. I learned _something _from all your babbling about emotions and I knew I had to come up with something better.'

'But….?' I push again.

'But I didn't.' Sherlock simply says.

I frown. 'What do you mean?'

'Don't be a simpleton, doctor. I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything. And then the days passed and Mycroft set our plan in motion and the world knew I was alive before I talked to you.'

It seemed so simple, and yet there was still something I didn't understand.

'So how is this my fault?'

Sherlock frowns at me. 'Didn't you listen? Because of you I knew I had to come up with something better than 'sorry' or 'hi, I am back'. You… You…' He waves accusingly at me. 'You were my moral compass. You made me aware of all that nonsense and now I can't go back. Every difficult conversation I ever had to have, every time I was ever aware of another person's feelings, every time I felt I had to _apologize_…you were there to tell me how to do it. Or at least you let me know when I did it wrong. But when I have to apologize to _you_…' he leans forward on the bench again, '… I cannot depend on you guiding me through it. You made me aware of it and now I am stuck. Before I met you there would have been no problem just announcing my return to everyone after coming back from the death.'

'So it's my fault.' I whisper.

'Yes.' He concurs, obviously relieved I finally understand. 'It is.'

He leans forward again, clearly still captured in his dilemma. I cannot stop myself from smiling but he doesn't see it.

'So,' he says, 'since you agree it is your fault you have to tell me the right words to apologize.'

'Sherlock,' I put my hand on his, he looks up, surprised, 'you just did.'

'What?' Complete confusion on the face of the genius, that must be a first. 'But…' he stammers, 'how….?'

I beam at him. 'Don't worry.' I pet his hand. 'You're a genius, you will figure it out.'

I slide my fingers under the palm of his hand and he closes them with his fingers.

We sit like that for a while. Darkness starts to fall in the park when I let go of his hand to stretch myself. I yawn and say: 'How about some tea at my place?'

_THE END._

_(Or not...? Let me know if you want more and what you would like to read about!)_


	8. Chapter 8

_Thanks for the nice reviews! Hopefully you will enjoy the next chapter! Please let me know what you think and what you would like to read more about!_

As soon as I open the door I regret inviting him in. The place is cold, dark and un-homey. I never really made an effort to make the small apartment my own and now I am slightly ashamed for it.

The detective steps inside behind me and looks around the room.

'Cozy.' Sarcasm. Of course.

'I never intended to stay long.' I say while walking towards the kitchen.

'Why not?' He asks.

'I signed up for the army again.'

He gives me a puzzled look but I ignore it. 'Tea?'

Suddenly Sherlock sees something familiar. 'Hey, my violin! I wondered what happened to it.'

Oh shit. I knew I should I have cleaned up a bit better. This is going to be embarrassing…

'Yeah ehm… I didn't want Mrs. Hudson to sell it.' I avoid looking at him. 'Whenever people ask me if I play I tell them I'm just keeping it for a friend.'

I don't see him coming, but suddenly I feel his arms around me. Before I know what is happening he is letting me out of the clumsy embrace and takes a step back, looking to the floor.

'I am… so sorry John… for everything! I…You are…' He struggles for words. It is kind of endearing but I decide to put him out of his misery: 'Let it go Sherlock, you're getting dangerously close to _sentiment.'_ I joke.

We stand uncomfortably in the living room for a few moments before he turns and picks up the violin. He is turned away from me but I can see him closing his eyes while he plays. Wholly engrossed in the music.

I walk into the kitchen - somehow the moment seems private – but then the tune changes into something familiar, something he played a lot when we lived together. I smile.

When he stops I say: 'Take it with you. Are you living in Baker Street again?'

'Yes, for the time being.'

'Hmm, nice for Mrs. Hudson.' I take two cups.

'Join me.' Sherlock suddenly says. I almost drop the cups. Is he kidding?

'And live with a junkie? No thanks.' I say it without thinking. But Sherlock steps over the insult.

'I'll stop. I already stopped.'

'Sherlock….'

'The overdose was an accident. I didn't take anything while we were living together. I didn't even smoke!'

'That's right, but this is different. Was there really a case?'

Sherlock ignores the question. 'I need a flat mate and you need to get out of this depressing dump. The army will never take back a crippled doctor who still suffers from PTS anyway!'

I take a deep breath. _Ignore it, John._

'I will think about it.' I say while I hand him a cup of tea.

We sit down on the couch and drink our tea in silence. Suddenly Sherlock says:

'She is nice.'

'Who?'

'That doctor you're dating?'

'What doctor? I'm not dating anyone.'

'The lady who tried to treat me in the hospital before you. I saw you with her several times while I watched you those days.'

I almost choke in my tea.

'Bloody hell Sherlock. That is creepy! Were you really watching me for two days?'

'Don't change the subject, John.'

'There is no subject. You deduced it wrong. I'm not dating Lucy.'

'Hmm, are you sure?'

'Yes of course I am sure you idiot.'

But we're both smiling.

He sips from his tea. 'Too bad. She seems nice.'

'You threw a bedpan at her!'

'Did I? I don't remember. Any other woman in your life I should know about?'

'No, and can you drop this? You don't hear me asking if you met anyone special.'

'Actually,' Sherlock says nonchalant, 'I did.'

_Thanks for reading and please leave a review!_


	9. Chapter 9

Wow. That was an unexpected answer. I want to laugh but I control myself.

'That's great Sherlock. Tell me about her.'

'Not now.' Sherlock puts down his empty tea cup. 'I will go because you have an early shift in the morning.'

'How _do_ you know that?' I ask.

But the detective ignores me and gets up. 'I will see you tomorrow, John.'

'Waiting at the bench with coffee?' I joke.

He grabs his coat and walks to the front door. 'Of course with coffee, John. Good night.'

'Good night.' I say to the closing door.

After a few seconds I realize: he didn't take his violin.

During work the next day I can't help but to think about this mysterious new lady in Sherlock's live. The thought makes me smile all the time… Would he hold her hand? Hold the door open for her? Make her _compliments_ and tell her she is beautiful, brilliant or amazing? I chuckle at the thought.

'What are you giggling about?' Lucy is suddenly standing next to me.

'Just something Sherlock told me yesterday.'

'Aha.' She smiles. 'So you two made up.'

I shrug. 'Sort of. He made a lousy apology but it's Sherlock: any apology is more than I thought him capable of.'

'So that's what you were laughing about?'

'No.' I tell her the story and we laugh together and make up funny un-Sherlock-like scenarios for a while, until we both have to get back to work.

When I enter the coffee room later for my break I see another Holmes I haven't seen for years…

'Mycroft?'

'Pleasure to see you, doctor Watson.'

I am confused. 'What are you doing here?'

He is just standing there. In the coffee room. In his suite. Leaning slightly on his black umbrella.

'Doctor Watson,' he says calmly, 'I am here because it has come to my attention that you… _renewed..._ your friendship with my little brother.' His light eyes pierce me. 'Is this truth?'

I frown. 'Not that it is any of your business, but yes, it is truth.'

He sighs. 'Why, doctor Watson?'

My confusion increases. What does he want? 'What do you mean _why_?'

'Yes, why. He is clearly unable to provide a sufficient apology, so why would you forgive him?'

Now I am getting annoyed.

'That's really none of your business, Mycroft. It's something between me and Sherlock. And why do you care anyway? Do you not want me and your brother to be friends or something?'

Mycroft waives his umbrella around and watches it intrigued. 'Let me put it to you this way, doctor Watson: I had no objection to you being in my little brothers' live when you seemed… _needed_ to keep him focused on something, even if it was something I did not approve of. But now…'

He watches me from over his umbrella. 'Now I think your presence in his life might derail him from his new focus.'

I frown. 'What new focus? Is this about his girlfriend or whoever she is?'

'Doctor Watson, that is exactly what this is about.'

'Mycroft, don't be absurd! I am glad that git of a brother of yours finally found someone he likes, and who apparently likes him back. I can't wait to meet her!'

'I was afraid you would say that.'

'Say what? That I want to meet her?'

He puts the umbrella down and takes a deep breath. 'It is not a _her_, John.'

_So? What do you think? Should I continue? _

_Thanks so much for reading and letting me know your thoughts about it!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Thank you so much for the reviews! I always try to use your comments!_

WHAT? This week is officially not good for my heart!

I am stunned.

I know I am staring at Mycroft and I must look like an idiot, but I can't help it. This is huge. Sherlock is … _gay_?

'Close your mouth, doctor Watson. That idiotic look on your face is most unbecoming.'

'S..s-sorry.' I stutter. _I stutter?_

Mycroft sighs. 'Is this going to be a problem?'

'No!' I feel unstable. I wish I was sitting down. 'No, of course it will not be a problem! My sister is –'

Mycroft interrupts me: 'We both know that is very different'

I cannot refute that: it is _very _different….

He looks at me. 'Victor is a great man, John.'

_Victor?_

'Remember how I told you, years ago, that my little brother has a great mind, capable of many things, but that he choose to be a detective. I always knew he could do more, better. Victor is bringing that out in him! Did you not notice the change in his behavior? You should be happy about this development!'

'I…I am happy.' Damn that stuttering! 'Of course I am happy! It's just…. unexpected. That's all.'

Mycroft glares at me. 'I just hope you will not sabotage this relationship, John. I am really glad Sherlock finally found someone suitable..-'

'_Suitable_?' Suddenly I get suspicious. 'Did you set him up, Mycroft? Did you choose this _Victor_ for him_?_'

He is waiving his umbrella is slow circles again. 'Would it make any difference if I had, doctor Watson?'

'Sherlock might think it does.' I challenge him.

He smiles. 'Doctor, don't you think that if I was involved Sherlock would know about it? He is fairly skilled in deducing that sort of thing, you know.'

I am speechless. He is right. Sherlock must have known about Mycroft's involvement but he didn't care. He must really like this Victor a lot. That realization hits me like a blow to my stomach. All of a sudden I feel cold and nauseous. Where are those bloody chairs when you need them?

'Anyway, I must be off. I am very glad we talked.' Mycroft says casually. He walks towards the door. 'Wait.' I say. 'Are you telling me I should stay away from Sherlock?'

'Good heavens no, dear doctor, just make an effort to hide your jealously of this relationship.'

'Why on earth would I be jealous of Sherlock? I never even met Victor?'

He opens the door. While he is walking out he says: 'I meant your jealousy of Victor.'

As soon as he is gone I sink down in one of the chairs.

_Bloody hell! _

This is almost as big a shock as finding out Sherlock was still alive! And that one was better!

But why? I ask myself. Why does this news make me nauseous? Am I really that shallow? Do I get sick from the idea that my best friend is gay? No! That can't be it! I served in the army with men who were gay. Great, wonderful men who I trusted with my life! I am not homophobic!

And now that I think about it, Mycroft is right that Sherlock has been behaving differently... softer somehow. Like that clumsy hug yesterday; two years ago he would never have done that…. That's a good thing, right? So… why does it only make me feel worse?

'John, are you alright?' Lucy is suddenly sitting down next to me.

'Yeah, I'm fine.'

'You look awful!'

I rub my face. 'Just tired I guess.'

'Who was that guy in a suite I just saw walking away?'

'Sherlock's older brother.'

'His brother? What did he want from you?'

I take a deep breath…. But when I open my mouth I change my mind. I can't say it. I can't tell her because then I'll have to explain why it shocked me so very much, and I can't even explain that to myself…. So I lie.

'Nothing. Just… nothing.'

She clearly doesn't believe me, but she decides to ask no more. 'Okay. Let's get something to eat.'

'I am not hungry.'

'But you're having your lunch break!' She exclaims.

I refuse to eat anyway. My stomach remains upset for the rest of the day and I feel like a large insect is crawling inside of me. What the hell should I say to Sherlock this afternoon?

_Thanks for reading!_


	11. Chapter 11

But I didn't have to worry about talking to Sherlock about Victor, because the detective seems to be making up for the week of silence before: he hardly stops talking. He tells me about a case he has been working on. He tells me about the first time he walked into Mycroft's office after he 'died'. He tells me about the hit men of Moriarty and how they played a cat-and-mouse game until he finally outsmarted them. He tells me about one night in Paris when he was totally and utterly bored.

'That's when I met Victor.' He says.

I am faking surprise. 'Who is Victor?'

But Sherlock notices, of course. 'How did you know?'

I try another surprised look, but I am a terrible actor. 'Know what?'

'Don't try to fool me, John. We both know you can't.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

He glares at me, his eyes piercing in mine for a few seconds. 'Mycroft.' He deduces. I decide there is no point in lying.

'He came to the hospital during my lunch break.'

'Oh let me guess,' Sherlock sounds disgusted, 'he told you to be enthusiastic about Victor.'

'How did you know?'

'Please John,' Sherlock sneers, 'I have known Mycroft all my life. He is insipidly predictable.'

'So…' I keep my eyes on the coffee cup in my hands, 'you like him? Victor I mean.'

Sherlock shrugs. Maybe the question was too direct.

'Can I meet him?'

He glances at me. 'Join us for dinner at Baker Street tonight. I'm sure he won't mind your company; Victor has a higher tolerance for stupidity than I do.'

'Great.' I grunt. I already don't like him.

Mrs. Hudson let me in. After we talked a few minutes and she told me how she had hit Sherlock with a kitchen rag when he suddenly walked into Baker Street, I proceed up the stairs. I hear voices coming from 221B. Should I knock before entering? But the door is slightly opened.

'Evening.' I say.

'Come in, John.' Sherlock yells at me from the kitchen. I enter into the living room.

'Ah, the famous doctor Watson.' I turn to hear who said that. Victor (I assume) gets up from the couch to great me.

Wow.

Okay, I am not gay, but I am also not blind. The man walking towards me is like a model: tanned, but not too much. Muscular, but not too obvious. Fashionable, but not excessive. He has dark brown eyes that smile friendly at me when he shakes my hand.

'I heard so much about you.'

'Some good things too, I hope.' I smile back at him. No need to show this man how impressed I am; surely he gets that all the time from women, and Sherlock…..?

'Only good things.' He says.

'Really? Then you can't have been talking to Sherlock.'

We laugh.

Before and during dinner I watch their behavior. Victor is very touchy: he puts his hand on Sherlock's shoulder when stands behind him to look at the table, he holds his waist when they pass each other in the small kitchen, and did I imagine it or did Sherlock's fingers brush over Victor's when he took the salt from him?

As the evening proceeds I am more and more sure of two things. One: Sherlock is not faking, or changing his behavior or trying to please Victor…. The detective is still insensitive and insulting in his deductions, sniping at me but also at Victor when we dare to say or do something 'idiotic' but Victor laughs it off and changes the subject. He doesn't seem to care at all.

Second: every time there is a touch between them, however fleeting or unintentional, I feel like smacking their hands away. A strange and alarming discovery. Am I jealous? Was Mycroft right? No, how is that possible? I don't feel that way about Sherlock. At all! Right? Maybe I am jealous because he is apparently in a good relationship and I am not?

With these questions occupying my thoughts I am not very good company at the dinner table, but Sherlock and Victor seem to manage fine on their own. When I make an effort to pay attention I start to see what Mycroft meant about Victor challenging Sherlock's mind…. Victor is extremely smart and has no trouble keeping up with Sherlock's speedy deductions. He even manages to come to a different conclusion, substantiate it with the evidence and make Sherlock admit that his theory is also a possibility. And all the while he is making an effort to include me in the conversation, even winking at me swiftly when Sherlock considers one of his theories.

Their good looks and intelligence might be similar, but it is clear that Victor has social skills which Sherlock will not even be able to develop if his life depended on it. And there is something else about Victor…. While Sherlock is handsome and definitely turns some heads on the street, people usually know to avoid him. But Victor has something….some air about him that is inviting and polite. He is undeniably a great match with Sherlock.

Shit.

When I leave around 11 ('Don't you have shift at 6 tomorrow morning, John?'), knowing that Victor is still inside, I can't deny it to myself anymore: I am ragingly jealous.

* * *

__

Oh oh, where is this going? Where do you want it to go? 


	12. Chapter 12

The next day I am at the hospital at 5 am. I didn't sleep. The image of Sherlock's fingers brushing Victor's hand kept me awake.

Damn it. What is going on with me?

I was hoping work would distract me, but when I walked in to the hospital an hour before the start of my shift Lucy took one look at me and directed me to the cafeteria to talk.

'What did Sherlock do?' is her first question when we sit down with coffee.

Is everyone seeing through me these days?

'It's nothing…' I try, but she doesn't believe me for a second. 'Tell me about the evening, John, every detail!'

So I tell her. Every thing. Down to every touch and look.

When I am done she has a strange look on her face.

'What?'

'Oh John…' She puts her hand on mine. What is this? Pitty? That's not like Lucy.

I shake her hand off. 'What?'

'You are so jealous.' She says softly.

I roll my eyes at her. 'Right, thanks, I really needed help figuring that out.' My voice is dripping with sarcasm.

She frowns.

I ruffle my hair. 'Sorry Luce. I just that…. I had figured that out already. What I don't know is _why_ I'm jealous.'

'Well….' She starts, and I feel the cliché coming.

'No. No, I am not in love with him. I don't want to be the one touching him like that. I'm not gay.'

Lucy leans back in her chair. 'I wasn't going to say that.'

'Really? Then what is your explanation?'

She picks up her coffee. 'I'm not sure you want to hear this…'

I exhale impatiently. 'Come on Lucy.'

'Okay, fine. When I was 15 – and promise you'll never tell this story to anyone – I had a best friend, Karen. We did everything together. We told each other all our secrets. And then she became distant. I knew she was hiding something from me and I pushed her to tell me but she didn't. Until one day she told me she was in love with this girl in our class. They were a couple. She didn't tell me because she was afraid of how I would react. I told her I was fine, but I wasn't. I was so jealous that it ruined the friendship forever.'

'Okay…'

She puts her coffee down and bends towards me. 'My point is: I realized there are only two reasons why I could be so jealous. The first is: I Ioved her and wanted her for myself. And second: I was no longer her only confident, her best friend, the most important girl in her life….'

'But…you could still be close friends…'

'No...' she grimaces, 'she told the other girl she loved her before she told me she was gay. I knew any boyfriend could never really come between us, but I could not compete with a girl that was a best friend and a lover in one…'

We are silent for a while. I think about her words.

'So…' I start slowly, 'what you're telling me is that I am either in love with Sherlock, or I am jealous because Victor is more important to Sherlock than I am?'

She shrugs. 'Can you think of a better explanation?'

'So what should I do?'

'Talk to him. Tell him how you feel.'

'Sorry Luce, but we're not 15-years old girls. We don't talk about our _feelings._ Especially not Sherlock.'

She waves it away. 'Either way, you should let him know you are okay with his relationship and you want to stay friends. Make an effort to get to know Victor better.'

Lucy glances at her watch. 'I'm sorry, John, but I have to get back to work.'

'Sure, no problem.' I say still absentmindedly.

When she gets up I suddenly wonder…. 'Hey Luce, why can I not tell your story to anyone? It's not embarrassing.'

She stands still for a second, then she leans to me and says: 'Because I forgot to tell you that to make sure I wasn't actually in love with her I kissed her. Also a very effective way to figure things out, by the way.' She smirks suggestively.

'Get back to work, Lucy!' I grunt.

'Just saying….' She winks at me and walks away.

_Thanks for reading!_


	13. Chapter 13

The rest of the day I think about the conversation. It seems to make sense. I already felt hurt and ignored when Sherlock didn't tell me he was alive, and now this….. For the last two years I thought I had lost my best friend when he jumped off that rooftop, but apparently I didn't really loose him until that night in Paris…. when he met Victor… I feel my stomach contract when I imagine that scene. But anyway, I tell myself, man up John, if you want to keep some form of friendship with Sherlock you have to let him know you're happy for him and play nice with his boyfriend.

At the end of my shift that afternoon Sherlock is there again, with coffee. I smile at him. He smiles back. Something pangs in my previously upset stomach.

'So, how was the rest of the evening?' I ask nonchalantly when we're walking through the park again

'Fine.' Sherlock says. 'Victor told me the orchestra he played the violin with in Paris asked him to come back.'

'Oh? And ehm… is he going?'

Sherlock shrugs. 'Probably.'

'I am sorry to hear that, Sherlock.' I say honestly. Suddenly my dislike of Victor seems to shrink.

'It's fine.' He says casually, 'I'd like to live in Paris.'

'WH…?!' I tried to say something but I choked on my coffee. Sherlock glares at me while I chough repeatedly.

When I can breathe again I stammer: 'You… you're going… to Paris?'

He frowns annoyed. 'No John, I am just saying _I _would like to live in Paris. What is going on? Even you are not usually this slow. I might go to Paris.' He adds coolly.

He wants to continue walking, but I grab his arm. 'Sherlock, stop.'

'Why?'

'We need to talk. That is….' I sigh, '…I need to tell you something.'

He has a quizzical look in his eyes, but he doesn't ask.

'Look, Sherlock…. About Victor…' I take a deep breath. God, this is difficult. Especially with him staring at me like that.

'I have to admit that I was…. a little shocked when Mycroft told me about you two. More than a little, actually. I really had to get used to the idea - I wish you would have told me before - and ….' I search for words while the detective is looking at me like he has no idea what I'm talking about. '… and maybe I was also a bit jealous of his relationship with you.'

'His what?' Sherlock has a confused frown on his face, but I ignore him.

'But I want you to know that I am fine with it. I really am. I want you to be happy and if he is making you happy you should go to Paris with him!'

I glance at him. There. I said it. But Sherlock looks like he didn't understood a word I said.

'His _what_?' He spits the words at me.

'His… ehm his relationship with you.' I repeat. 'Your…' I gesture awkwardly, '…love.'

The detective looks at me like I have something disgusting on my face. '_Love? _John, what the hell are you talking about?' He yells.

What? Now I am confused. Did I not do it right?

'I'm talking about you and Victor.'

Sherlock's light eyes flame. Is he angry at me?

'You think _I _am in a _romantic relationship_ with Victor?' He hisses, clearly appalled. 'Don't you know me at all, John Hamish Watson?' Now he's yelling again. 'What the hell did Mycroft tell you?'

'Ehmm…' All of a sudden I have a feeling I made a huge mistake here…. 'Why don't you tell me what your relationship with Victor actually is.' I stammer.

'We're friends.' He waves his arms around.

'_Friends?!' _I repeat, shocked. '_Just friends_?'

'Yes! Like you and I are friends.'

'Oh no, Sherlock!' I turn away from him. Jesus. This is crazy. 'The way you and Victor are behaving together is not the sort of friendship you and I have!'

'What do you mean?'

'What do I mean? I mean the cooking, the politeness, the bloody _touching_, Sherlock!' I try to keep myself from yelling.

'But we do that too!' He roars.

I scold at him. 'Not like that!'

Sherlock turns and violently throws his coffee cup in a trash can. He stands still for a few seconds before he turns to me again. Calmer, but avoiding my eyes.

'John, I don't know what Mycroft told you but I can assure you that Victor and I are not a couple. Obviously your misconception about him and me was strengthened by our behavior last night, but….' now he looks at me, 'you and I behave the same way.'

I start to object but he doesn't let me: 'You are clearly unable to observe what you do, but I can! You cook for me, you are polite to me when I don't deserve it, and you… you touch me.'

'I do not!' I protest loudly and embarrassed.

'We hugged, at your place! And the other day when we sat in the park,' Sherlock sneers, 'you took my hand!'

'What? No! That was just….' I splutter, but I can't find the right word.

'Friendship?' Sherlock suggests aggressively.

I turn away again, rubbing my face. 'I… I don't know.' I sit down on one of the benches. Sherlock sits down beside me with an angry look on his face.

'So…' I hesitate, 'you and Victor are not together?'

'Obviously not.' He snaps at me.

We are silent for a while, then he seems to realize something and he says: 'Do you think Victor thinks-'

'Yes.' I answer firmly before he finishes his question.

'So maybe I should-'

'Yes!' I say again.

We glance at each other. I shake my head and laugh. He grins too.

'Let's go.' I say and we get up.

When we walk he suddenly says: 'So, you were jealous?'

'Shut up, Sherlock.'

He smirks and turns his coat collar up.

Show off.

_Thanks for reading. Is this the end of the story….? If not, how should it continue? Let me know what you think!_


	14. Chapter 14

_Thanks for reading and reviewing my story! This is just an epilogue for those interested in what happened next…. _

* * *

The first day back in 221b was slightly awkward. I would like to say that both Sherlock and I had to get used to each other again, but really it was just me. The detective was back in old routines of experiments and talking to me when I'm not there in no time at all.

We talked only briefly about Victor.

'How did he take it?' I asked when Sherlock came back from a visit to his 'friend'.

'Fine.' Sherlock responded. 'But I can say with a high degree of certainty that the friendship is over.'

I snickered. 'So I can expect a friendly visit from Mycroft in the coming days.'

Sherlock waived it away. 'I'll send him a text.'

Mycroft never came and we never talked about it again.

Now, on one of my first free evenings in weeks, I'm comfortably sitting on the couch with a good book. Sherlock has been in his room since he came home late in the afternoon. I know something is up, but I don't want to pry.

I hear him coming into the living room. He flings himself on the couch and I – knowing what he wants – lift my book of my lap without looking up. He flops his legs over my knees and I continue reading while my hands rest on his legs.

We sit in silence for a while.

'John?'

'Hmm?' I don't look up.

'It's good you're back.'

'Thanks, Sherlock.' I glance at him. He stares at me. There is no emotion or expression on his face or in his eyes.

Not good.

'Are you okay?' I ask.

'Fine.' He answers.

He lies, but trying to make him tell me what's wrong is obviously pointless. I return to my book, but I can't concentrate because I can feel him staring at me.

After I have attempted to read the same page for about ten minutes he finally clears his throat and says: 'John, about the drugs….'

Damn it! I knew it!

'What about it?' I ask while putting my book away. This is serious.

Sherlock doesn't stir. His light blue eyes pierce in mine.

'Are you still using?' I ask when he doesn't speak.

'No.' He answers immediately. 'But…' he blinks, 'I think I might again….'

'Sherlock…'

'I don't _want _to, but…'

'You're addicted.' I conclude.

'I can beat it. Easily.' He states with an air of confidence.

'Oh really?' I frown.

He glares at my disbelieve and says: 'Yes, I did it before.'

'How?'

'I got a flat mate.'

I snort. 'And what did he do to make you stop? Lock you in your room?'

'No, he got me focused on my work. He believed in me. He became my best friend.'

'…' I don't know what to say. Is he talking about me? Was he addicted when we first met?

'Do you remember your response to Lestrade's drugs bust when you had just moved in?' He asks. Of course I remember! But before I can say anything he continues: 'You were so certain I didn't have any drugs, you were insulted for me, even though you had only knew me for what? Two days?'

I open my mouth to say something, but my mind is blank, so I just close it again.

'I needed that. I needed you around.' His voice is so low and soft that I hardly hear him.

'Well…' I start, 'I'm here again, so don't worry.'

'You have a job now.'

'I will take some time off.' I respond immediately.

'It will be more than a few days.'

'Then I'll take a few weeks.'

We just stare at each other in silence for a few seconds.

At some point his eyes wonder off and I follow his gaze to my hands on his legs. When I look up again he slowly raises one eyebrow. He doesn't speak but I can read the _I told you so_ on his face.

Suddenly I realize he was right: we _are _doing the same things I saw him and Victor do.

This is what everyone else sees and why they always think we are together. _I _would think that too.

Does that mean….?

Bloody hell.

'Sherlock…' I hesitate, 'are we a couple?'

'John, based on my observations we have been a couple from the start.'

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you liked the story (and also if you didn't, of course!) _


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